


A Good Night for Stargazing

by dragonimp



Series: Turning Points [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Created the Stars (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, Other, Some bittersweet but mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23062318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonimp/pseuds/dragonimp
Summary: The angel tried not to come across as too overeager, but he knew Crowley’s casual remark about it being “a good night for stargazing” was anything but. Nothing that touched on life before the Fall could be casual. Even pleasant memories were usually only broached after a not insignificant amount of alcohol, so for Crowley to bring up stargazing while completely sober was rather monumental.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Turning Points [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657417
Comments: 52
Kudos: 251





	A Good Night for Stargazing

Crowley was reserved and quiet on the drive, his remarks limited to what would or wouldn’t make a good spot. At least he didn’t seem to mind Aziraphale’s chatter filling the space.

The angel tried not to come across as too overeager, but he knew Crowley’s casual remark about it being “a good night for stargazing” was anything but. Nothing that touched on life before the Fall could be casual. Even pleasant memories were usually only broached after a not insignificant amount of alcohol, so for Crowley to bring up stargazing while completely sober was rather monumental.

They eventually found a spot Crowley was happy with, on the side of a knoll that offered some protection from the wind. Aziraphale suspected that it wasn’t exactly publicly accessable land, but decided not to quibble. It wasn’t as if anyone would be bothering them.

He spread a blanket out on the grass with care, anchoring one corner with their picnic basket and the other three with a stern look or two. By the time he’d set out the cheeses and fruit and poured wine for them both, Crowley was sprawled back with one arm tucked behind his head.

“There,” he said abruptly, pointing. “That one. Between the two bright ones there. Can just barely see it.”

Aziraphale handed him the wine and stretched out next to him, sighting along his arm. “Yes—I think I see it.”

“That’s the first one we did. The very first star my team made.”

“Oh! It looks so tiny from here. How far away is it?”

“Eeeeh medium distance? It’s not very big. Testing out the process, you know. Beginner’s luck, that one.” He could hear the grin in his voice now. “Our next few exploded right away or got so big so fast they collapsed in on themselves.”

“Oh, goodness.”

“The exploded ones turned out to be useful. The collapsed ones? We had to put ‘DANGER: DO NOT CROSS’ marks on the Celestial Maps for a few of those.”

“Are those what the humans call ‘black holes’ now?”

“Yep. Pretty clever of them to find ’em, if you ask me. How can you _see_ something that sucks in all light? But the humans found a way!”

“And now they think your little oopses are a cosmic puzzle.”

“Well, _I’m_ not gonna tell them it was just a bunch of angels buggering up.”

“What about the big one?”

“Mmn—” Crowley said around a mouthful of wine. “No, the big one was planned. All the big ones were. It’s the only way to make a system like that stable. We just. . . .” He waved the wine glass. “Didn’t _really_ plan to make so many of the littler ones. Oh, there! There’s a tidy little planetary system around that star. We made it out of the dust cloud of one of our first exploded ones. It was there, so we figured, why not?”

“Indeed. No sense in letting it go to waste.”

“Recycling!” Crowley agreed.

Aziraphale had been in awe of the star building teams. Building the cosmos had been work for the first sphere, assisted by the second. Not anything for a lowly third sphere angel such as himself. He’d never minded his rank, and wouldn’t trade his hands-on position in the material world for anything, but when it came to the stars . . . he had to admit to sharing a bit of the humans’ reverence.

“The humans are convinced it’s all been up there for billions and billions of years,” he remarked.

“It has been. We just sped up time to get it there,” Crowley explained. “Sped it up and sometimes reversed it back because we overshot. The Almighty wanted it all to a certain point by the time this big experiment down here started. _In medias res_ , and all.”

“Oh, like She did with the fossils and such.”

“In this case, it all had to be operating smoothly and over any hiccups. Can’t have things all crashing into each other and exploding while She’s trying to get Her little Garden going.”

There was just a bit of bitterness underneath those words. “What about the constellations?” Aziraphale said, hoping to stear away from anything unpleasant. “Were those planned?”

Crowley laughed. “No! The humans just see pictures in everything! Most of those stars aren’t anywhere near each other. I still can’t get over all the things they read into it.”

They settled in, sharing the wine and Aziraphale nibbling on the treats he’d packed while Crowley pointed out this or that star and shared anecdotes. Such as the time they’d strayed too close to another team’s sector and ended up with a collision.

“Ended up making a new kind of star so both teams sort of agreed not to mention it and we went on our way.”

Every so often Crowley would shift in his sprawl, inching closer without seeming to realize it. After a particularly strong gust of wind made the demon visibly shiver Aziraphale miracled out the second blanket he’d brought and tucked it around them, tucking his own warmth up against the poor serpent’s side at the same time. Crowley paused for a second, then very deliberately snuggled in against him. As if he’d forgotten for a moment that this was something he could now do.

“Did you have a favorite bit?” Aziraphale asked. “It’s such a big work, with so many different pieces—I’m not sure I’d be able to choose.”

“The nebulae,” Crowley readily answered. “There’s one, right through there, that we made. The humans discovered it in the seventeen hundreds. Making a nebula—it’s _fun_. We got to paint with gasses and dust—work the elements around until we got the colors just right—we even used our exploding stars there, too, once we got the hang of them.”

He finished off his wine, and reached over to set the glass down near the basket. Aziraphale waited.

“If I miss _anything_ ,” Crowley said, voice just above a whisper, “it’s the colors.”

Aziraphale looked over, saw amber eyes bleached to platinum in the starlight, slitted pupils blown wide.

Angels weren’t limited to what the humans called the visible spectrum; they could see everything from gamma down to radio waves, if they chose to. Aziraphale rarely did, finding it more distracting than anything else, but he had no doubt that those building the stars had taken full advantage. To go from that to the dichromatic vision of a snake. . . .

He let his vision shift as he looked at the sky now, noting how some wavelengths were scattered, some were overwhelmed by the interference of technology, but some—oh, _some_ made the sky come _alive_ —

“You never got to see it, did you,” he said. “You never saw it completed.”

“I saw it while we were building it.”

“Not from down here. Not from the vantage point you were building it all _for_.”

“’S’all right,” Crowley insisted. “I see it as the humans do.”

“Would you like to? See it?”

Crowley’s eyes snapped to his, an exclamation frozen on his lips.

Aziraphale pulled his hand out from under the blanket and held it out.

Crowley looked from the hand to his face and back. He could see the impulse to brush it off, to insist that he’s _fine_ , it’s all fine, no need to go to all this fuss. And he could see it at war with sheer longing.

Aziraphale just smiled and offered his hand.

Crowley’s hand shot out and gripped his.

Aziraphale initiated the switch, the simultaneous push and pull that let them swap. There was the brief moment of disorientation as their essences slid past each other, and then Crowley’s corporation settled around him, all long limbs and angles and not nearly enough padding. He shivered and burrowed down into the blanket, wondering how Crowley ever got comfortable with all these bony bits sticking everywhere.

The stars had receded into cold points of distant light. Down here everything was so much brighter, the starlight more than enough to illuminate every movement in the field around them. More than enough to see the eyes in his own face widen as Crowley took in the sky in a way he’d been robbed of. To see the tears gather and start to slide silently down his own cheeks, as Crowley made a soft sound with his borrowed voice.

Crowley had a hand to his mouth, eyes darting here, then there, trying to take in the whole of the sky at once. Trying to sear each detail into his memory.

Aziraphale crooked an arm beneath his head, content to watch his dear demon.

They stayed until the sky started to lighten and the stars began to fade. Crowley took one last look and a long, shuttering breath, then closed his eyes. “Thank you, angel.”

Just like before, the switch back took almost no effort; just a slide back into what’s familiar and comfortable.

Neither of them said anything as Crowley reached over and wiped his own tears from Aziraphale’s face.


End file.
